


When The Sun Lights The Room

by evergreenstringbean



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Action, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Gunshot Wounds, Joe and Nicky have a son, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreenstringbean/pseuds/evergreenstringbean
Summary: “We should do something today. We could pick up some flowers at a shop this evening,” Joe offers to his love, squeezing his hand in an absent check-in to make sure the man is in fact mentally there as he’d claimed to be. A matching squeeze confirms so and he takes a deep breath.“He should be here.”Thirty years ago, Joe and Nicky lost their son. The "finality" of death still gives them whiplash at the tricks it plays.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	When The Sun Lights The Room

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Kaerith for beta-reading for me! This work turned out 1000% better because of it.

On most days, it’s easy. Nicky awakens, just as the sun begins to pool in through the slivers of the windows unblocked by the blackout curtains. He carefully untangles himself from Joe’s limbs to get breakfast and coffee started for his family. He burns his tongue when he takes a sip of scalding, bitter liquid from his own cup, finding a small and predictable comfort in the fact that the pain subsides just as he lifts his mug back to his lips. He blinks back the edges of sleep to keep his eyes trained on the food so that it doesn’t burn, paying the hot pan as much close attention as he would a target beyond the scope of his rifle.

Flashes of remembered laughter fill his ears, and he drowns it out with a loud clearing of his throat.

Joe comes shuffling in by the time he’s getting out the plates and various mugs. His beloved yawns and reaches his arms up to stretch, his shirt riding up a little to reveal the bare skin of his hip. On easy days, Nicky would grin and rest his hand on the exposed area, pulling the man toward him and welcoming him to the land of the conscious with a gentle kiss. Joe would hold him close and they would revel in the quiet time they’d have together before the hustle and bustle of the day commenced.

However, Nicky knew from the moment that he woke up with an aching in his heart and recollection of today’s date that it was not to be an easy day. Rather than greeting Joe, or even acknowledging him, he wordlessly sets the table and pours himself another cup of coffee before trekking out to take a seat on the back step where the rising sun is burning brighter than Nicky deems acceptable. He despises his lack of optimism for the day ahead, but with another swig of caffeine, he decides that optimism can go thoroughly screw itself. 

Joe watches the love of his life in dejected silence, understanding straight away and opting to delay his breakfast until Nile and Andy can join them. Instead, he follows out the back door, leaning against the frame and looking down at the man staring straight ahead with a hollow look in his squinted eyes. “Nicolò,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Nicky responds in an instant. His tone isn’t harsh, yet Joe can’t pinpoint an exact emotion to it. Perhaps that is appropriate. “I am okay. Still here, Yusuf.” Joe lets out a relieved sigh, quiet but enough for his husband to pick up on. “Are you?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright.” He hears a hum from Nicky and moves to take a seat next to him on the step. Instinctively, the other switches his coffee to the opposite hand and holds his free one out. Joe smiles softly and takes it. “We are alright, my love.”

Nicky doesn’t say anything for a long time after. He just holds Joe’s hand and keeps his gaze on the sunrise. His coffee is still clasped in his hand, but it grows colder as he neglects it in favor of letting himself think. The quiet usually provides calm for the two. They’re able to relax together but have their own separate trains of thought. But right now, the silence only leads them down the same dark road.

“Thirty years.” Joe glances over to see Nicky’s lips ponder his next choice of words. The way they seem to tremble with the statement, how the verbal confirmation appears to finalize the ache in their hearts.

_You and Nicky always had each other, right? And all we had was our grief._

A reflection of Booker’s words from years ago almost makes Joe angry again. He understands it had not been the man’s intention, but he’d stabbed the pair in a way that couldn’t be fixed by their immortality. No, the grief Joe and Nicky shared was _amplified_ by the way they were so in tune with each other. They wanted to fix each other’s pain, and by doing so they fed it between them until it grew to something far more powerful than they could conquer together. It was a damn miracle, Joe had decided, by the fates and several deities, that they were able to reach the point they’d gotten to now. 

“We should do something today. We could pick up some flowers at a shop this evening,” Joe offers to his love, squeezing his hand in an absent check-in to make sure the man is in fact mentally there as he’d claimed to be. A matching squeeze confirms so and he takes a deep breath.

“He should be here.”

Nicky finally looks from the rising sun to Joe, though he can barely see him through the spots caused by the glaring light he’d been purposefully gazing at the entire time. It is for the best. If he sees the hurt in his husband’s eyes, he’d be sure to lose the little composure he’d worked so hard to build in preparation for this day. “He should be here, Yusuf.” Nicky’s voice is listless and empty and claws at Joe’s heart.

“I know. I know, _habibi_ ,” Joe whispers in return, allowing Nicky to abandon his coffee entirely before pulling him into a hug and letting a few tears escape his eyes. “I know.”

Nicky trembles a little in Joe’s hold, but he doesn’t cry. He’s all cried out. He’s been cried out for seven years. Now, he just feels cracked, like a piece of him has been violently ripped away, and though he has healed slightly, he’ll never be truly whole again. He knows Joe feels the same way. _“Lo vedo lui tuoi occhi_ .” ( _”I see him in your eyes.”_ ) His words hum against the crook of Joe’s neck, hitting him in more ways than one as he tightens his hold on Nicky. He doesn’t even try to keep it together as he responds, voice thick with tears.

“ _È con noi, amore mio. Sempre._ ” ( _”He is with us, my love. Always.”_ )

**~*~**

Andy wakes up to a call on one of the burners from Copley. He attempts a heartfelt congratulations on the last job, informing her of the money that would be placed in an envelope near their next location. She hums a thanks as she rubs her eyes to wake up a bit more and shuffles vaguely in the direction of the kitchen.

“I’ve got another job for you. Arms deal, in America.”

She almost scoffs at the idea, feeling it to be more of a glorified SWAT team job than something for them. But the tone in his voice tells more than he’s saying. “What is it?” she asks, standing just outside of the door frame to talk. 

Copley pauses before answering. “There’s something…off, I suppose. My information shows they only have one man for surveillance and security.”

“Maybe they just can’t be bothered to hire anyone else? One gunman can take out fleets of people.”

“Perhaps, but it’s a little odd that they’d be that confident in one person. Especially since this one looks like he’s barely old enough to drink.”

That slice of news makes Andy pause, many different reasonings shuffling towards a hopeful answer. “Do you think he’s being held hostage?”

“Possibly. We can’t be too careful.”

With a quick glance into the kitchen, where Nicky’s shoveling more food onto Nile’s plate despite her still looking half asleep and absolutely stuffed, Andy cements her answer. “Okay,” she says, making a mental note to look for the up-to-date passports after breakfast. “When?”

“Tomorrow. They’re meeting with international dealers then, best to bust them all before those weapons make their way around the world. I’ll send you more details this afternoon.”

With that, Andy hangs up and finally enters the kitchen, places the phone onto the counter, pulls out a hammer from the drawer to her right and smashes it to pieces. When she’s satisfied, she tosses the broken machinery into the trash can with the coffee grounds from the first pot made hours earlier. The room seems a bit more cheery than she expected. Nicky and Nile bicker about food while Joe watches and finishes the remnants of his meal. It’s all quite domestic, given the circumstances.

She pours herself a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table. She can’t help but flick her eyes between the two boys. They’re hiding their feelings quite well, and a part of her grows sorrowful at that thought. But she doesn’t dwell. “We got a new job. Leaving tonight.” And there it is, as soon as she finishes speaking she sees the broken look shared between the two.

“Uh, boss, we-”

“I know,” she answers quickly, Joe stopping when she interrupts. “But it’s time sensitive. Arms deal, possible hostage situation.”

“Y’all got a date?” Nile asks innocently, sounding a little playful, which has Nicky flinching. Joe reaches out for his hand and mutters something too quick for Andy to catch, but Nicky gives him a smile so all appears okay. “…Okay, I think I missed something,” the girl says after a few more beats of silence.

“You two should tell her. She wouldn’t stop asking questions last year.”

At Andy’s request, Nile’s eyes fill with recognition as she stands from the table with her plate to discard the leftovers. “Was that the day you guys went out and came back crying?” She sounds gentle with her question, but it still shoves daggers into the men’s hearts at the reminder of last year’s activities. 

The emotion in Nicky’s eyes when he looks at Joe is so intense that Joe has to fixate on something else to keep from drowning in it. Nile stays leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and brow raised in confusion at their lull in conversation. Sighing, Nicky decides to endure telling the tale yet again. "His name was Elliot." He finally sits next to his husband and takes his hand again for comfort. He feels Joe squeeze his hand, yet another test, and Nicky doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

“Near the beginning of the new millennium, we were in Moscow helping with various situations. We had no big missions going on, so we decided to end the 20th century doing a myriad of peace tasks around the world. Joe and I had decided one day to help clear an old building that had caught fire and was just barely staying upright…that’s when we found him.”

“This tiny little baby, wrapped in blankets in a charred basket on the back porch,” Joe takes over, hoping that swapping turns between them will help them both get through the story. “Nobody we spoke to knew him, or where he came from. We planned to take him to a police station the next day…but, you see, somebody got attached.” He holds back a smirk as he looks at Nicky who shares an amused grin.

“I happen to recall you spending the entire evening doing everything to make him laugh, _tesoro_.” Nicky chuckles at the thought, glad to recall the decades-old memory with fondness for a fleeting moment. Joe’s happy to do the same, shrugging it off with a similar laugh.

Andy watches them with a gentle grin playing on her lips, letting her own memory stir up with the story when Nicky continues. “We decided to adopt him, keep him safe. We feared what would happen to him in an orphanage, as Russia’s system for orphaned children was…worrisome, to put it lightly.”

“I’d never seen them so adamant about something,” Andy comments in the pause of the story, watching Nile smile at her comment.

“He was a beautiful boy. Caught on to many languages quickly. We taught him of many cultures, art and history and science that baffled him and intrigued him beyond belief. Of course, we also made sure to teach him how to defend himself.” Nicky lets himself chuckle at the memory of the seven-year-old knocking Booker on his ass during one of their training days. Joe had told him it was better than teaching him to shoot and using “Uncle Booker” as target practice. Andy had snuck Elliot extra dessert that evening for making her laugh. “We thought we were safe…” The unexpected joy the memories of happier times had brought up vanishes just as quickly as it begins.

Joe feels his throat tighten at the realization that he has to finish the story. Scooting a bit closer to his love, he presses a quick kiss to the back of Nicky’s hand and takes a deep breath. He can get through it. “When he was nine, we had a mission in New York City. We tried everything to make sure one of us would be able to stay behind to watch him, but it was out of our hands. The only way to keep either of us even the slightest bit calm with the situation was to put Elliot in a hotel room. That way he’d be in a room where we could set up security and make sure he was okay, and the only ones allowed in would be the four of us…” He takes another breath, and squeezes his eyes shut. Andy makes her way to the liquor cabinet. Nile watches the boys at the table, a cold chill surrounding her body. 

“We ended up being gone a bit longer than expected. Elliot had grown worried when we hadn’t returned an hour after we promised…so he decided to try and find us on his own. I suppose he overheard us talking before we left, but either way he found us. We’d been tracking down a human trafficking ring that had been heavily guarded. We thought we’d gotten them all on the main floor and we were on our way up to find the last few guys when…he found us.” That’s the memory that sears into Joe and Nicky’s soul each time they think of their son. A relieved little boy, then terrified eyes, a horrible scream, and too many bullets to count. “He was shot by a straggler we’d missed. Caught him in the chest…we- he didn’t-” 

Joe has to stop after that. Nile has tears threatening to spill, Andy’s pouring glasses of an unnamed alcohol and Nicky is locked up with that horrifying blank stare that Joe had feared would take over since the day had begun. Without thinking of much else, he quickly reaches out with his free hand to tilt Nicky’s chin up, his eyes catching the soul crushing return of his Nicolo’s empty gaze. He’s gone. Joe has lost him. He could only hope Nicky would return to him soon.

“ _Guardami, Nicolò. Per favore torna da me_ ,” he pleads gently, careful not to panic through the episode. He knows what little good that does for everyone involved. Andy sets two glasses in front of them and hands one to Nile before downing her own in record time. 

“They buried him just outside the city. It was the only thing we could think to do. It’s been thirty years today since,” Andy speaks quietly to Nile, setting her empty glass in the sink. “We’ll leave later tonight,” she says to Joe, who just barely nods in her direction as he continues to mumble musings to his husband. Sighing, Andy leads the girl into the living area. 

Nile glances into her glass, taking just a small sip. She hasn’t quite reached day drinking status yet. “What happened to Nicky?” she asks, earning a sad look from the woman who had begun packing her clothes.

“This started happening a few months after Elliot died. Nicky would just…disappear for a few moments. Not physically, but it’s like he’d lock his mind up. Maybe to stop hurting, I guess? He’s always been the kindest of us. I wouldn’t call him sensitive, exactly. He’s slaughtered relentlessly for the good of many, you know this. But…I don’t know. Seeing your son, your child, die like that…it broke something in them. Three years after, Nicky locked up for an entire year. He was awake, but he didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. He died several times over, and Joe died right there with him each time he would stop breathing. He never left his side. Booker and I went on jobs and left them to their own devices. From what Joe told me, one day Nicky just woke up and broke down. Things slowly went back to normal. I suppose it was only natural it wouldn’t last. Grief has always been a delayed reaction for Joe.” Andy tosses her unfolded clothes into the duffel bag and turns, watching Nile finally down her glass. “On the five year anniversary of his death, Joe disappeared for real. He’d left in the middle of the night, didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Nicky went after him. He told us he had a hunch, but told Book and I to stay behind. He found him at Elliot’s grave.”

Nile twirls the cross around her neck between her fingers, thoughts of her own family flooding into her mind. She shuts it down before it can eat at her. “I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

Andy offers a hint of a somber upturn of her lips, fiddling with the straps of the bag. “Let’s hope you never truly do.”

**~*~**

Nicky sits on the edge of a rooftop behind the sight of his scope, double and triple checking for any extra security that Copley may have overlooked. After another pass of the outside, he pulls back with a nod and makes his way to join the group on the ground. Joe adjusts his cap while Nile tucks her gun out from her waistband and Andy lays out the plan. “Alright. Joe, Nicky, you two go in through the back. I’ll go in through the side window,” she pauses, looking to Nile with a smile. “Think you can go first this time?”

At first Nile thinks she’s kidding, but the serious look in her eyes has the new immortal grinning. “Got it.”

“Try not to kill him first. Copley thinks he may be a hostage.”

After another minute of preparation, the two men make their way towards the other side of the building while Andy takes the other route. Nile allows herself a deep breath before raising her weapon. She thinks it’s too easy, walking in through the front entrance without a single other person in sight. Sweeping the floor with her gun, she’s careful to keep an eye out for any sudden movement that may turn into a threat. However, the dark room has only provided utter silence that makes her stand a little more on edge. 

That is, until she rounds a corner and feels an arm around her throat. 

She kicks and thrashes about, trying her best to get out of the hold, but whoever is holding her clearly has the experience to back up the iron grip they have on her. Eventually, she manages to hook her foot around her attacker’s ankle and yank, finally ending the choke hold before she passes out from oxygen deprivation. She grabs the gun that she hadn’t even noticed she had dropped, lifting it even as a bullet buries itself into her shoulder. 

Despite the pain, Nile wrestles her way on top of her attacker and pins him down with her pistol pressed against his jugular vein. Andy’s words about a possible hostage situation pop into her mind just before she automatically pulls the trigger, and she hesitates and focuses her eyes on his face. The person in front of her looks far less angry than anticipated and far more…familiar.

“Freeman?”

His voice brings her back into recognition, flashes of Recruit Training passing through with a fondness she could hardly contain. “Williams?” They share a smile as weapons dip from their targets and a tight hug is exchanged. “What the hell are you doing here?! I thought you deployed!”

“I could say the same for you! I caught a bullet in the hip a few months in. Got sent home.” He sounds saddened by his statement, something Nile can certainly relate to. “How ‘bout you?”

Nile’s thankful for being able to come up with lies as well as she can now, keeping an ear out for any signs of a scuffle as she replies, “Same old story, no new twists.” She watches his eyes flicker to her bloodstained shoulder and he applies pressure to where the wound should be.

“Shit, Nile! Come on, I think I can find something to-” he stops his sentence suddenly and her blood runs cold when he removes his hand and peels her sleeve away to see perfectly healed skin. “-stop the bleeding.” He says the last part under his breath. Nile tries to come up with another lie, her mind drawing a blank as she frantically searches for a well-tailored explanation for her lack of a wound until he speaks again. “…You?”

She wants to ask what he means, worried a new branch of people had possibly tracked down the immortals, but the sound of gunfire and screaming have the two of them back to business. “Follow me. Stay close,” she says, hearing a hum of confirmation as she reaches to return the abandoned weapon to its owner. The two slowly make their way to the main room, where an onslaught of chaos befalls their senses. Nile helps where she can, taking out masked men left and right while her male counterpart stays behind a stack of crates and shoots where he’s able to get a clean shot. All too soon, it’s over and the five immortals join up in the middle of the room.

“Well? Did you find the guard?” Andy asks Nile. She nods with a sigh that almost sounds like a laugh, turning her head to find him. 

“I did. Uh, it’s kind of a funny story, actually.” She turns to the direction of the crates, now confused by the lack of movement of noise she hears. “Lee?” Nile makes her way over as the rest of the group follows, and drops to her knees next to the soldier’s body. “Lee! Shit, stay awake!”

Nicky’s quick to leap into action. The sight of a gunshot wound to the stomach brings up a medley of emotions, and not a single positive one, but he shoves it all aside to lean down and keep pressure on the gaping mess of blood. “We need to get him somewhere safe. A hospital’s ideal.”

“Don’t- don’t bother,” The boy- Lee, as Nile has helpfully provided- gasps out through quick attempts to breathe. He has his eyes trained on Nicky though, and likewise for the other. Something about this boy has Nicky scanning years of memories trying to find where he’s seen him. Joe’s taken to his side while Andy calls Copley for evac, keeping Lee’s shirt away from the wound while Nicky holds his hands pressed firmly over the skin. Watching the kid’s labored breaths makes Joe feel oddly squeamish, a part of him wanting to look away while the other stays adamant on helping.

“We’re not just gonna let you die like this,” Nile pushes, her face determined and stoic. 

Lee looks to the two men helping, offering a ghost of a grin on his face. “ _È bello rivedervi entrambi_.”

Everyone freezes at the fluent Italian that flows from his mouth before his eyes fall shut and his chest fails to rise again. Nicky and Joe stay close to together in a swirl of confused hurt by both the statement and witnessing a life disappear. Andy keeps busy on the phone with Copley. Eventually, Nile looks back to Nicky. “What did he say?” she asks, standing up after a moment’s hesitation. She doesn’t want to leave him, but knows full well that Andy will insist it’s better for him to stay. He’ll get a proper burial, after all. 

Nicky looks first at his husband then back to Nile, confusion written all over his face as he speaks. “He said it was nice to see us both again.” He sees that Nile wants to press, but he’s obviously as lost as she is, so she merely nods and turns away from the body. Joe places a hand on Nicky’s back, who only shakes his head in response. After years together, they can have lengthy conversations without the need to move their mouths, and Nicky is more than grateful for that in situations such as these.

Roughly an hour later, they’ve got the weapons loaded into a singular crate for Copley to have gathered. In the past, they would’ve had to burn it all, playing a fun game of roulette with gunpowder and chances of explosions beyond their expectation. They’re thankful for the newer option, even if Joe does sort of miss the thrill of uncontrollable blazes from time to time. 

Just as they start to wrap things up, Nile hears a gasp from across the room. Gun raised, she slowly reviews the bodies, making sure there’s no survivors they missed. Each man she passes stays still when she kicks them which has her sighing in relief until she approaches the crates. She doesn’t want to see his body again. It’s only going to provide more for her to ponder in her hours alone, something she’d much rather not add to. But as she rounds the edge of the box, her eyes catch something that makes her do a double-take. 

“Lee?”

The man in question coughs a little and sits up with a groan, briefly looking to Nile before glancing down at his stomach. Her gaze follows and she almost jumps back when the lack of a gunshot comes into full view. “Not too long this time. I’ll count that as a win,” she hears him say under his breath. He slowly hoists himself up from the floor, where the three others see him and instinctively raise their guns. “I think we all know that’s useless at this point.”

“Andy,” Nicky says quietly, looking to her for some sort of guidance. She keeps her eyes on Lee for a long time before very slowly lowering her weapon. 

“He comes with us.” She motions for Nile to keep an eye on him as they all make their way out of the building. There’s time for questions later. Nile wants to ask them now, but Lee brushes them off as they walk towards the exit. All the while, he keeps looking at Joe and Nicky.

The gnawing curiosity plagues Nicky’s thoughts from the time it takes to leave the building and the entire duration of their travel back to the safe house. Lee is familiar, but not, and the lack of understanding has him frustrated beyond belief. Joe comforts him with a gentle smile, but is otherwise wordless. He’s oddly quiet, a clear indication he’s following the same path that Nicky is regarding the situation.

The two meet each other’s eyes, then look away to the passing surroundings outside the vehicle. The first twenty minutes of the drive is awkward, unlike the plethora of times they all relax in the post-mission haze of a job well done. Now it’s all muddied with apprehension and new challenges.

“Who are you?” Joe can’t help but speak up about halfway to their destination. Lee turns his head from the window to look at Joe sitting ahead of him in the passenger seat.

“How do you want me to answer that?”

Joe’s growing aggravated, but keeps a level head. “With the truth.”

That seems to knock the smug grin off the boy’s face, and Nicky takes notice in the way he folds in on himself. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Nicky offers, trying to be helpful.

Lee thinks for a moment. Nicky thinks he’s having some form of internal struggle but doesn’t comment on it. He’s worried that trying to dig into the man’s life too much will make him shut them all out, and that is the last thing any of them need. “Private First Class Lee Williams. Nile and I were in basic training together.”

“And you’re fluent in Italian, as well?” Joe asks.

“And have met Joe and I before?” Nicky adds, watching as Lee quickly turns away to look anywhere but near the passengers of the car. He’s uncomfortable. Nicky wants to know why more than anything he’s ever wanted to know before.

Lee looks to Nile with an unreadable expression, but she seems to understand what he’s trying to get across and goes to change the subject. “I’m starving. What’s the plan for dinner?” Admittedly, her attempt to stray the conversation makes Lee cringe from the obvious detour, but he keeps quiet nonetheless.

Joe checks the reflection in the side mirror as he picks through his memory for the boy staring out the window behind him.

**~*~**

The house is quiet at night. The gravel road just out of city limits provides little traffic after the sun sets, which makes the home seem disconnected from the modern world. The three older adults feel far more content after they’ve parked and finally enter the living room. Unfortunately, the comfortable silence doesn’t last long as their eyes land on Lee, who looks like a deer in headlights.

“Where’s Booker?” he asks when he snaps from his trance, watching as everyone grows shocked by the question. However, he remains calm as he looks around the room, tracing the mantle above the fireplace and grimacing at the dust he gathers on his index finger. The group looks between them, ready to hit the kid with a barrage of questions when he stops. Keeping a hand on the mantle, he lifts his head to stare directly into Nicky’s eyes and sighs. “It’s been too long.”

He wants to ask what that means, but Lee looks on the verge of tears and there’s that gentle side of him that wants to console whatever may be bothering him. Ignoring the Booker question, Nicky turns to Andy and Nile and tells them both to go relax until dinner is ready. He’s about to tell Joe the same, but Joe shakes his head.

“I’ll help.” That’s secret code for _I do not trust this man enough to leave him alone with you_ , but Nicky doesn’t argue. So far Lee has provided very few answers to the multitude of questions he’s created, and it’s beginning to drive them both mad. So that’s where they are half an hour later, Nicky cutting vegetables while Joe handles the myriad of hot pans on the stove. Lee sits at the nearby table and nurses a glass of water. The two can feel his eyes on them the entire time, but they don’t comment on it. “How did you come to learn of your…condition?” Joe asks when the silence grows too tense for comfort. 

Lee breaks his gaze at the question and suddenly shifts his interest to his cup, tapping his nails against the glass while he ponders his answer. “It’s a long story, you’d probably get bored of it.” His tone clearly indicates that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but Nicky can tell from how Joe lets out a small, almost unnoticeable huff that he’s growing tired of skirting around real answers with vague statements.

“Is there anything about yourself that you _do_ want to share?”

“ _Joe_ ,” Nicky warns, watching his husband’s eyes soften at his chastising. The sound of the boy’s laughter has Nicky freezing up mid-chop, something Joe catches and abandons the cooking to address. 

“ _Cosa c'è, tesoro_?”

Nicky shakes his head to snap out of his hopeful thoughts, the laughter echoing louder and louder in his mind. No. He’s just being silly. “ _Niente. Niente, amore mio_.” He takes a deep breath and smiles, feeling it become more genuine when Joe grins back at him. 

Their counterpart stays quiet when they get back to work, but not for long. “I was just a dumb kid.” That has the two directing their attention to the table, but Joe makes a point to keep stirring the food in the pans from fear of anything burning while his back is turned. Lee takes another sip of water and clears his throat. “I got shot. Woke up six feet under.” His head dips down to stare at his bloodstained jeans, and Joe makes a mental note to go rummaging through his and Nicky’s clothes for something to give him to wear once they’ve gotten through the conversation. “I spent who knows how long clawing my way up. The dirt was packed so tight that I couldn’t move much, so it was _agonizingly_ slow. I lost track of how many times I died before I reached the surface.” His grip tightens on the glass, but the two men don’t comment on it. From the looks of it, Lee’s just about as fragile at the moment, and Nicky doesn’t want to interrupt the story. 

“I only found out after I made it out that I’d been dead for _seven months_.” Nicky finds Joe’s eyes immediately, the two matching their shocked looks. It’s at this point that Joe cuts off the stove and sets the pan aside, unable to functionally multitask with Lee and Nicky both looking at him. “I couldn’t return to my family. So, I did what I could. Let’s uh…let’s gloss over a few personal matters,” he mutters, alternating glances between the two. It astounds Nicky how fast the boy can shift from being nervous and pained to putting on a facade of careless affability. “Anyway, I was seventeen when I died again. Car accident. Thankfully, everyone else was unharmed, but sneaking out of a morgue nearly a week after dying is single-handedly the most awkward thing I’ve ever done,” he chuckles sadly to himself and runs a hand through the mop of brown curls on his head. “But I haven’t changed since then. Died several times over, but I’ve looked this way for-” He stops himself mid-sentence, demeanor shifting in a way that makes Joe uneasy. 

Nobody speaks for a few moments. The room is silent aside from the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of the pan’s sizzling dying down as it cools off. Lee’s eyes are trained on the glass again. He starts biting his lip and as soon as Joe starts to pick up on his body language, the boy jumps up from the table and yanks a small red package out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles quickly, taking off for the back door as fast as he could. Joe watches his husband stare in the direction that Lee had walked out and turns his attention back to the stove. 

“Go, _hayati_. I’ll be here.”

Nicky smiles and kisses Joe’s cheek before following Lee out to the backyard, where the boy is sat in one of the garden chairs with a cigarette balanced between the fingers of his left hand. He takes a second to watch him in the dim glow of the floodlight. The way he stares into space while he takes a drag off the cigarette. How he exhales with more purpose than to merely rid his lungs of the smoke but also rid his body of the emotion plaguing him. Stepping first in front of Lee to show he’s there, Nicky then takes a seat in the empty chair beside him. “I would tell you those will kill you, but I don’t believe that would be an accurate statement.” 

The boy holds back a chuckle with another long inhalation, dragging his free hand down his face. “I guess that’s the one thing about immortality that proves beneficial.” The two sit together with only the sound of crickets and Lee’s inhales and exhales filling the void, both content to enjoy the night air until the younger of the two drops the end of the cigarette at his feet and extinguishes it with his heel. “I used to love spending time out in the dark,” he casually admits, still gazing out into the dimly lit yard. “As a kid, I’d pretend to be a spy and sneak up on my parents to scare them. My foster parents didn’t seem to appreciate that as much. They organized a search party the first time I ‘went missing’. I hid in the laundry room for hours because I didn’t want to get in trouble.” He laughs at the memory while he tells it, something that reminds Nicky of all the games he and the others would play with Elliot in the backyards of their safehouses. Sometimes they would pluck up the courage to go out to parks and zoos, but not without Nicky and Joe making sure someone had an eye on their son at all times. The bone-chilling thought of somebody taking their baby, or _worse_ , was a fear that Nicky can still feel decades later.

“You have foster parents?” he asks, watching Lee’s smile fall at the question. “Are they aware of your…occupation?” 

Lee shakes his head quickly and flips open the pack of cigarettes, probably debating on whether he wants to light another. “No, they uh, they died a few years ago. They were older when they first began to foster me. Not exactly the prime of life to have a son. Especially not one who’s prone to uh…violent tendencies? I’ve been hotheaded my entire life, and something in me snaps when I see injustice happening around me. But instead of a peaceful resolution, I tend to take a more direct approach. I stressed them out so much. Probably didn’t help their poor health.” He flicks the lid shut again. “I started running protection for less than desirable individuals first for money, but after a while I just did it to have something to do. Not a lot of respectable jobs available to people who are supposed to be dead.”

Something doesn’t add up right in Nicky’s head. Whether it’s Lee’s careful tone or how his face scrunches up at weaker details. It’s a clear sign that he’s not telling the full story. So, with a calm, clear voice, the older man asks, “How old are you, truly?”

“Seventeen.”

“I did not ask how old you will remain. How old are you, Lee?” He opens his mouth to provide an answer, but no sound comes out. He closes his mouth and when Nicky turns to look at him again, his eyes are filled with tears. This is certainly a complete turn from the boy he’s seen the past few hours. Regardless, seeing anyone in pain opens the compassionate side of Nicolo di Genova, who quickly stands from his chair and steps in front of the boy. “Would you like a hug?”

He looks like he’s about to protest, but he nods and Nicky bends down to pull him into his arms. Lee hugs back, his grip tight and shoulders shaking as he begins to cry. The other does his best to console him, whispering kind words in Italian and rubbing his back in a calming manner. Eventually, his cries still and Nicky pulls back, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“ _Вы действительно забыли меня_ ?” ( _”Did you really forget me?”_ )

Nicky’s blood runs cold. The Russian translates slowly in his mind, making him feel something akin to the moment just before he’s hit with a bullet or sliced by a sword. That pause in the seconds before an instant death. He watches the tears roll down Lee’s face, ones that now match his own. “…Elliot?”

The boy smiles genuinely for the first time, and Nicky lets out a cry that Joe can hear from the kitchen. He immediately drops his spoon and runs out to the backyard, afraid for what he’d see once he reached the door. When his eyes adjust to the dark, he’s surprised to see Nicky and Lee in a tight embrace, both shaking with sobs. He’s worried to ask what prompted their tears, but when they pull away and turn to him, Nicky beats him to the punch.

“It’s him, Yusuf. _It’s him_.” Joe’s heart breaks at the statement, knowing that Nicky is gone in a way he’s feared would happen after his catatonic state all those years before. He’s delusional, seeing things in people similar to their son. He steps forward to his husband and takes his hand, sending an apologetic look to Lee before returning to Nicky.

“No, _habibi_ ,” he says gently, ready to talk him down and do his damned best to keep himself from breaking down when Lee rests a hand on his arm.

“ _Да. Это я, Папа_ .” ( _”Yes. It’s me, Dad.”_ )

Nicky watches the realization dawn on his Joe’s face, which only lets the tears fall harder when he pulls his son into a tight hug without another word. Neither of them had spoken Russian in thirty years, having used it exclusively with their son to keep a part of his homeland with him as he grew. After he’d died, the two couldn’t bear to say a word in the language without their hearts breaking with every syllable. And while the two are rusty beyond belief, Joe’s speech is rushed and terrified as he keeps his son in his arms. “ _Скажи мне, что это не сон. Пожалуйста, я не могу проснуться от этого._ ” ( _”Tell me this is not a dream. Please, I cannot wake up from this.”_ )

The boy lifts his head up to look at Joe, tears clouding his voice. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I-I tried to look for you, after I climbed out of the dirt. The safehouse was empty, and I was so lost…I eventually gave up trying to find you. An officer found me roaming the streets, she took me to social services.” He wipes his tears on his sleeve and takes a step back, though he can tell Joe isn’t ready to let him go just yet. “I remember you telling me to never use my real name. And since I wouldn’t tell them anything of my past, they sent me to a foster family with a new one. I tried to look for you,” he promises, his eyes displaying a childlike vulnerability despite approaching his forties. “I tried, Papà, I tried.”

“I know,” Joe assures, and he looks up to see Nicky sobbing behind their son. “You’re home.” He reaches out to take Nicky’s hand and pull him into their hug, where he can press a kiss to his husband’s temple and then to his son’s hair. But something catches Joe’s attention and their emotional reunion is cut short. “Wait- you said you woke up after you…?”

Elliot gives the two a slow nod, sniffling and pulling his lighter from his pocket. Before his parents can protest, he flicks the wheel and watches the fire as he extends his hand over the small flame. He groans in pain as his skin peels back and only pauses when Nicky pulls his hand away. Nicky’s about to ask what he’s doing, but the boy shakes his head and holds up the sight of the wound. They all watch as the burn slowly heals up, the skin forming back over his hands and only the dark discoloration of smoke remaining. “Things like this heal up, no big deal.” He pushes the lighter back into his pocket and sighs. “But for some reason, it’s a roll of the dice every time I die. Could be minutes, could be months. I was dead for the entirety of 2014. Thankfully, I was alone when it happened, so nobody came to check on me, but it was crazy to wake up two months into a new year.” He feels absolutely exhausted from the tears and the day’s activities, and with a look between Joe and Nicky he knows they can see it.

“We can talk more after dinner. Let’s go find something for you to wear, and you can rest before we eat, _солнышко_ ,” Nicky suggests gently, keeping his hand on his child’s shoulder to keep himself stable. He’s terrified that the second he lets go, he’ll turn around and see nobody beside him. 

The boy grins at the thought of finally getting out of his blood-dried clothes and washing away the reminder of his death, following Joe and Nicky back into the house without another word. 

**~*~**

Dinner becomes a rambunctious affair. Relaying their information is filled with shock and awe, grief and love, and every possible feeling in the spectrum. Andy wraps the boy into a tight hug and welcomes him back, while Nile asks questions to get caught up to speed.

_“Wait, why’d you go with Lee though?”_

_“Nile, what’s the second syllable of my name?”_

_“…Ohhhh! Well, at least I’m not the baby anymore!”_

_“Nah- try again, Freeman. I’m thirty-nine.”_

_“Damn it!”_

Once the excitement of the meal dies down, the girls retreat to their rooms for the night. Whether it’s due to genuine fatigue or wanting to give the reunited family their space, Joe and Nicky are grateful regardless. They stay curled up on the couch, with Elliot sat between his fathers while a random news channel plays in the background. They’re not focused on it anyway.

“So where’s Booker now?” Elliot asks once the two have relayed the events from two years prior to him, all up to Andy’s newly discovered mortality and now, to Booker’s exile. He looks devastated by the news, but doesn’t share more than a thoughtful hum of acknowledgment. 

Nicky absent-mindedly begins to play with his son’s hair, the floppy pool of curly dark hair having always been a source of comfort for both parents and their child. Running his fingers through it reminds Nicky that Elliot is here and he’s okay, and the feeling of someone soothing him brings Elliot back to a time when he wasn’t running aimlessly with no connections to keep him tethered to reality. “Last we heard, he’d planned to leave for France. We’re not sure where he is exactly, but Copley assures that he has tabs on him.”

Nodding his head, Elliot leans back to rest his head on the top of the couch. “I want to see him.” He doesn’t talk for a few minutes after, and the three are content to sit in the silence with the background noise of the television and the hum of the ceiling fan above them. When his breaths slow, Joe smiles at his sleeping child and gazes at his husband.

“It seems that destiny has been kind to us once more, my love,” he says quietly, careful not to wake Elliot. His heart aches when he takes in his appearance again, now that he’s no longer covered in blood or standing in the dim backyard. “He looks so tired…”

Nicky agrees with a soft hum and continues the slow movement through his son’s hair. “Life has not been kind to him. He’s been through so much in his short time on Earth.” He reaches out to hold his husband’s hand, and Joe does so without hesitation. “Yusuf, he’s home. And we don’t have to fear losing him again.”

Joe seems reluctant, and casts his eyes from Nicky to Elliot. “You heard him. It’s unsure how long he’ll be gone when he dies. What if his immortality is…different to ours? What if he’s not here as long?” He seems scared when he speaks. Nicky frowns and ponders the question for a while. He’s unsure that either of them could endure the pain of losing their child again. But as he thinks, he reaches a sort of epiphany that brings a sad grin to his face. 

“We can’t dwell on the what ifs, after thirty years without a single possibility. We have a chance now, Joe. And that’s enough for us. I promise, _tesoro_.” The man’s words leave Joe misty-eyed, and he kisses the back of his hand in response. Watching his son sleeping soundly after all these years is a gift he’s more than thankful for, and as he leans over to kiss his husband, he feels the ferocious ache in his heart slowly beginning to heal.

**~*~**

Joe wakes up one morning a few weeks later with Nicky still fast asleep next to him. There’s no light coming through the windows, a clear indication that the sun has yet to rise and it is entirely too early for his body to be as awake as it currently seems to be. When falling asleep proves unsuccessful, Joe begrudgingly peels his arms away from his beloved and starts the journey to the kitchen for coffee. The house is delightfully quiet, something Joe appreciates in his hazy state. Even though he’s not tired enough to go back to bed, mornings still make him groggy and oddly jumpy when so much as the floorboards creak in an unexpected fashion. 

He’s pouring the hot liquid into his mug when he hears shuffling behind him. On instinct, he yanks the gun from behind the coffee maker and points it in the direction of the noise, only to drop it with a relieved exhale when he watches Elliot lift his hands in mock surrender. There’s a cigarette dangling from his lips and he’s got one of Nicky’s jackets draped loosely around his frame, so Joe infers he’s just about to step out for a smoke. “Well, good morning to you too,” he says, tone too upbeat for Joe’s liking as the boy pulls the cigarette from his mouth. “I wasn’t looking to gamble on the length of my resurrection today. Wanna put the gun down, Dad?”

The word makes Joe’s heart melt as he tucks the gun back behind the appliance, turning back to his son and gesturing to the paper box. “Seems a bit early for that. I thought you said you were trying to quit?” He chooses his words carefully. He and his husband are still navigating the delicate balance of parenting and often land wrong. While Elliot may perpetually look like a teenager, he makes it clear often that he’s an adult worthy of making his own decisions. 

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Nicky of his hotheaded nature, but none of his family reacts with matching anger or malice. Instead, they understand that he is a man in pain from a lonely life and help him to channel the anger through other means. He begins sparring again, brushing up on old techniques from his childhood and bringing things in he learned during his time in the Marines. More often than not, he ends up on the ground with either his parents or Nile above him, but he’s slowly becoming more comfortable with the routine and even wins a few matches.

So when his father asks the question, rather than grow defensive, he merely shrugs and provides a quiet answer. “It’s a rough morning,” he whispers, keeping his attention on the package instead of Joe. 

The older of the two’s gaze softens and he pulls another cup from the cupboard to fill with coffee. “Want to talk about it?” At Elliot’s hesitation, Joe sighs and holds out the mug to his son. “I think you’ll feel better, _солнышко_.” This appears to relax the boy, who accepts the coffee and leads his dad out to the backyard, which has become the prime spot for hard conversations. Elliot seems to enjoy the darkness of the backyard and the sort of freeness it gives him to speak his mind without directly seeing the reaction from the person he’s talking to. It allows him the liberty to be open and honest, something Joe and Nicky both appreciate when talking with their child. 

Once situated in their respective chairs, the two relax in the quiet morning air and enjoy the first scorching sips of their coffee. The grass is damp, but whether from dew or the previous evening’s storm is anyone’s guess. “I guess it’s about last night,” Elliot starts off, his voice echoing in the half empty mug as he lifts it to his lips. “Seeing him like that…I can’t even start to imagine the last three decades of that.”

Joe thinks back to the night before with a heavy heart. After dinner, Elliot and Nicky had been on dish duty while the others discussed their first mission with their new addition, when a crash and a shout for his dad made Joe bolt to the kitchen. Elliot explained he had gone to his room to change his dishwater soaked shirt and returned to find Nicky standing at the sink, staring blankly at the wall with no response. Joe tried to provide comforting words to his love, reassuring him that Elliot was okay and there with them to no avail. It took the boy hugging his father and pleading with him in Russian to wake him up. Nicky eventually shook himself out of it and hugged his son back just as tightly. Elliot had gone to bed noticeably shaken, but Joe and Nicky felt attempting to comfort him would have done more harm than good.

Which leads to now, as Elliot sucks back the rest of his coffee and pulls a cigarette from his package. “I tried to find you. For so damn long,” he says through an exhale of smoke. It’s times like these when Joe can see his true age shine through. Not in appearance, of course, but in the way he exerts his feelings through smoking and stares at the floodlight with such tired eyes. Nicky had been right. Life had not been kind to their child. “I spent months trying to remember any little thing I could to figure out where you were. Any details of the other houses or any possible thoughts about where you had gone next. But…I was a child. And I had been gone for months, then spent weeks fighting with the Earth to make it to the surface. Sometimes when I fall asleep I still imagine my screams muffled by the dirt that filled my throat. There were a few months after that where I would wake up choking on nothing.” He looks down and flicks his ash onto the wet grass. “I suppose I know how Aunt Quynh feels.” He says that almost inaudibly, but Joe still catches it and lets it hurt him all the same.

“We don’t blame you for not being able to find us. Please don’t blame yourself,” Joe replies, voice breaking on the last half of his sentence as Elliot turns to him.

“It’s hard not to blame yourself for the mistakes you make, no matter your age or knowledge. If I had just stayed put, or left a note, or something... There were a million things I could have done differently to fix it all. None of us would have nearly as many regrets then.” He doesn’t let his father reassure him. He throws his half finished nicotine to the ground, watching it fizzle out against the dirt. “When I was younger, my viewpoint twisted up into anger. I blamed you both for my fate. For not getting back when you said you’d be back. For not finding me in my years of searching. For leaving me to navigate the beginning for my immortality alone. I felt lost. I was such an angry teenager. My foster parents were distant with me, understandably so, after the hurt I felt started to turn into violence towards the people who seemed to get away with things they shouldn’t. I broke a boy’s nose when I was fifteen for bullying a girl in a grade below us. I got sent to therapy. He got…an apology from the principal and myself.” 

He rolls his eyes at the memory. Joe’s anguish is clear in his face from Elliot’s admission of blame. Before he can begin to speak, the younger one holds up his hand. “I haven’t felt that way about you in a long time. As I grew and became more comfortable with my new predicament, I rethought everything I’d used to anger myself and let it go. It was nobody’s fault. Well, if anybody’s, it was mine. I should never have left that hotel room. I should have stuck to the plan. I should have just _waited_ …”

As Elliot begins to spiral, Joe sets his cup onto the flat arm of the garden chair and takes his son’s face into his hands. “This was not your fault. You were a child who worried for his family. You are here with us now, and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter to us whether you’re seventeen or seventy. You will always be the beautiful baby we loved the moment we found you in that basket.”

The boy laughs, surprised from just how much better he already begins to feel from his father’s words. “I suppose it would’ve been easier to find me had I not joined the Marines. Nile and I would have dreamed of each other then. So, maybe destiny didn’t want to be too kind, huh?” 

The sky’s brightened significantly by the time they calm their nerves again. Joe leans back in his chair and looks out to see the bright line of the sun beginning to rise. He’s not used to waking up this early, since he’s typically not up and at ‘em until Nicky’s gotten coffee ready. But as he turns from the medley of colors dancing across the sky to his son looking on in awe, he thinks to himself that he wouldn’t mind getting up just a tad earlier from now on.

Nicky looks on from the doorway with a soft smile. His husband and son stare up at the sunrise while chatting quietly to themselves. It reminds him of the anniversary weeks before, when he and Joe looked upon the dawn of a new day with pain in their hearts. Elliot laughing at something Joe says has Nicky’s smile widening while he approaches them. “Good morning,” he says with a hum, leaning down to kiss his husband.

“ _Доброе утро, Папа_ \- ugh! Guys, I may be an adult, but that’s still-” Elliot cuts himself off to shudder, and he watches Joe and Nicky chuckle from his theatrics.

“I came to tell you breakfast is ready. We might want to eat before we leave.”

The boy grows visibly more excited at Nicky’s words, hopping up from his chair with his empty mug and making his way inside with one more glance at the pinks and oranges littering the wisps of clouds. The three would be leaving for France later in the day, finally ready to go see Booker after weeks of Elliot’s pleading. 

Nicky and Joe watch him walk in before the former takes Elliot’s place in the empty chair. “I saw you woke up before me. I was worried, _hayati_ ,” Nicky hums, holding Joe’s hand in his own. 

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. I think a part of me knew Elliot was in distress.”

“Is he okay?”

Joe thinks on it for a moment, pondering whether to tell his love of their son’s inner turmoil and the panic he still feels from his past. But he turns back to look at the house, and the memory of his son looking up at the sunrise with such an intense look of wonder gives him an immediate answer. “Yes. He’s okay.” He stares into Nicky’s eyes, reaching up to caress his chin with his own eyes full of love. “Nicolò, my love, my heart…we’ve such a beautiful life ahead of us.”

Nicky answers with a tender kiss, channeling all the warmth and love he can muster in it. “ _Per sempre_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Blame the poor Russian on google translate and the poor Italian on both google translate and my own half-assed knowledge of the language I'm learning.


End file.
